


Uphill Both Ways

by mrs_d



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: (we all know what Sam and Bucky mean when they say 'I hate you'), Bucky Barnes's Backpack, Fluff, M/M, Post-Captain America: Civil War (Movie), Snark, old man yells at cloud
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-29
Updated: 2016-09-29
Packaged: 2018-08-18 10:46:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,083
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8159350
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mrs_d/pseuds/mrs_d
Summary: “So what are the kids doing to piss you off?” Sam asks. “Is it their music? It’s their music, right? It’s too loud?”





	

“Ugh,” says Bucky.

Sam glances over, only mildly interested. This is the third time Bucky’s said this today, and Sam’s lost count of the number of times he’s said it during their once-a-week shared morning commute to the VA office.

This time, though, Bucky actually elaborates. “I just don’t get it.”

Sam signals, checks his shoulder, moves smoothly over into the left turn lane. “It being...?”

“Kids,” Bucky all but spits.

“Oh,” says Sam, like that explains everything, which, it kind of does. He stops at the red light and drums his fingers on the steering wheel — the traffic looks endless in the morning haze.

“Do go on, Grandpa,” he adds, when Bucky doesn’t say anything else.

“Wish I was,” Bucky mutters. “Maybe my grandkids’d listen to me.”

“Nah,” says Sam. “They’d just put you in a home.”

“I hate you,” Bucky says fondly, which makes Sam grin.

“So what are the kids doing to piss you off?” he asks, as the advanced green lights up and he makes his way through the intersection. “Is it their music? It’s their music, right? It’s too loud?”

“No,” Bucky replies, sounding almost offended. “The music’s fine. It’s their damn backpacks.”

Sam opens his mouth, closes it again. If he weren’t driving, he’d be staring at Bucky, or possibly checking to see if he had a fever. But he is driving, and he really doesn’t want to crash the car that Bucky bought him as an apology for wrecking his old one three years ago, so he settles for saying, with great feeling, “Huh?”

“It’s like, when I was a kid,” Bucky goes on, and Sam’s surprised. It’s an expression that he’s heard from Steve often enough, but never from Bucky. “You were lucky if you had a strap to keep your books together. Most of the time, you just had to carry ’em when you walked to school.”

“Let me guess,” says Sam, unable to resist. “Through two feet of snow, uphill both ways?”

Bucky nods seriously. “Damn right.”

Sam laughs. They’re only a few blocks away from the VA, but he doesn’t want to cut this conversation short just yet. He points to a Starbucks and raises his eyebrows in a question.

“Sure, we got time,” says Bucky quickly. “My point, though, is that these kids don’t know how good they’ve got it. We couldn’t carry anything except what would fit in our arms when we went to school. And the war, Jesus,” he adds, and this is another first. Bucky doesn’t talk about the war much, even when Steve prompts him. “You were lucky if your arms didn’t go numb with the weight, those packs were so full. God help you if you had letters or trinkets that somebody sent you from home. Everything you owned in the whole world was on your back, and if you lost it, could be that nobody’d know who you were if you got blown to kingdom come tomorrow.”

“Mm,” Sam agrees, as they join the long line of cars waiting for the drive-thru. “And the kids today just don’t get that.”

He was intending it to be a question, but it comes out more like a statement. The kids don’t get war — he knows that, and he knows that that’s not necessarily a bad thing.

But... backpacks? This is quickly becoming the strangest conversation he’s ever had with Bucky, and that includes the time when Bucky talked in his sleep and thought Sam was his Great-Aunt Marge.

“No,” says Bucky with certainty. “Like, look at that asshole,” he adds, pointing at a college-aged guy making his way through the parking lot on his skateboard, huge headphones covering his ears. “His bag’s not even done up. Anybody could come along and grab anything.”

“Must not have anything too valuable in it,” Sam suggests. Now that he thinks about it, a lot of young people do walk around with their backpacks only half-zipped. It’s never bothered him before; he wonders if it will soon.

“And that girl we passed a ways back?” Bucky goes on. “Half-done up _and_ on one shoulder. She’s got two arms and two straps — what in the hell was she doing?”

Sam nods. Bucky doesn’t seem to need more than that to continue.

“They set ’em down at the library, go get a coffee, and don’t even check to see if everything’s still in there when they get back. Somebody could’ve stolen their shit, or, _Christ_ , put a bomb in there, and they wouldn’t even notice. And yesterday, on the bus, some kid didn’t take his bag off, and this little old lady was trying to get around him, and he hit her with it. Didn’t apologize or nothing, can you believe it?”

“Mm,” says Sam again, his lips pressed tight together to keep from laughing as Bucky gets even more animated, fully ranting now, waving his hand around wildly.

“Oh, and don’t even get me started on how they never use the middle clip. Like, don’t they know what that thing’s for? It’s the most useful part of the bag, but do they use it? Nope, just carry on getting back problems. Idiots. Young, stubborn idiots.”

 _Like you’re one to talk_ , thinks Sam, but he doesn’t say it out loud since they’re at the speaker, and it’s asking for their order. Sam gives it — Americano for him, caramel macchiato for Mr. Sweet Tooth over there, not that he needs the sugar and caffeine today, by the sounds of it.

As they’re advancing to the window, Bucky huffs out a little sigh.

“Feel better?” Sam asks him.

“Actually, yeah,” Bucky admits, sounding a little sheepish. “Maybe I should talk to my therapist about this.”

Sam laughs. “That’s between you and your therapist, baby.”

The cashier hands him their drinks, and Sam sets them in the cup holder, so he can get out his wallet. But Bucky’s already ahead of him, holding out a crisp $20 bill. Sam beams at him as he takes it, wishing that it was okay to lean over and kiss him for it, but they don’t really have the time, and, anyway, they’re in public. Bucky’s not too keen on showing affection in front of strangers, but he smiles his pretty smile, which is almost as nice. It’s Sam’s favorite because it’s soft around the edges.

“You know,” Sam says, once they’re back on the road. “You could do a PSA campaign. Get your picture on a bunch of posters in the library, warning kids about backpack safety, scaring off thieves, that kind of thing. We could write you a song, like Steve’s, only about the middle clips.”

He doesn’t need to look over to know that Bucky’s glaring at him, but he can’t help pushing it a little bit more.

“Not all of us can storm a beach or drive a tank,” he begins, and Bucky groans.

“Why do I like you?”

Sam’s laughing again while he pulls into his reserved spot in the parking lot. He shuts off the engine and leans in, pressing his lips to Bucky’s scowl for one quick moment.

Or, at least, it’s supposed to be quick. Bucky sighs into it, soft and tender, like he wasn’t just complaining about Sam less than thirty seconds ago, and when they part, he’s smiling again, his cheeks a little flushed.

“Everything off your chest now?” Sam asks him.

Bucky nods. “My shrink was right: feels good to vent once in a while.”

Sam wants to congratulate Bucky on this, wants to tell him he’s proud of him for the work he’s been doing since they got back to the States, but that’s more Steve’s thing — he’s the dramatic one, after all. So Sam just rolls his eyes a little as they get out of the car and head for the building, Bucky to his appointment with Sandra, and Sam to his definitely-not-the-Avengers day job.

“Don’t act so surprised, baby, you’ll hurt my feelings,” he says. “Some of us shrinks are smarter than we look, you know.”

Bucky gives him an exaggerated once-over, top to bottom and back up. He winces. “Some.”

“I hate you,” says Sam.

* * *

Steve surprises Sam on his lunch break, somehow appearing in a corner of the waiting area when Sam walks his last client of the morning out to the elevator. Steve’s incognito, which means he’s wearing a hat and a black shirt with his jeans instead of the usual white.

“Hey, baby,” Sam greets him. Steve’s not nearly as concerned about public signs of affection as Bucky is. “What are you doing here?”

Steve draws in a deep breath, shoves his hands in his pockets. “Group,” he says quickly.

Sam nods. He’s glad — Bucky’s been hinting that Steve should come with him for weeks now — but he’s not going to make a big deal out of it. Even though there may as well be a giant neon sign flashing BIG DEAL over Steve’s head, Sam pretends he doesn’t see it.

“Cool,” he says simply. “How was the charity thing at the hospital?”

The tension goes out of Steve’s body at once, and he smiles. “Good,” he says. “So good. Those kids — they just....” He shakes his head. “So brave. They inspire me. Really.”

Anybody else could say that and it would sound corny or cliché, but not Steve. He’s earnest and sweet, and it’s one of those rare moments that Sam still experiences sometimes — when Steve shines, when the goodness at his core leaks out around the edges of his smile, and the whole world seems brighter for it.   

“That’s great, man,” Sam tells him, and Steve nods. His smile falters, though, when his eyes flick towards the clock on the wall.

“Walk with me?” he asks.

“Sure,” says Sam.

They head for the stairwell, and Sam can’t find it in him to tease Steve about coming all the way to his floor just for a little company. It’s a huge step, and Sam’s proud of him, but he’ll tell him that later, when he’s a little less shaky about it.

“So,” Sam begins, to take Steve’s mind off where they’re going. “Bucky honest-to-goodness ranted at me this morning in the car.”

The distraction works — Steve looks over. “What’d you do?”

“Me? Nothing,” Sam says honestly. “There was some kid riding a skateboard with his backpack undone, and—”

“Oh my god,” Steve interrupts. “Again? With the book strap, and the war, and the middle clips?”

Sam snorts out a surprised laugh. “You too, huh?”

Steve sighs, long-suffering. “I swear, it was all he talked about when we were at the mall on Tuesday.”

Sam laughs all the way to the ground floor, where Steve pulls him close and kisses him. Sam’s not sure if it’s for joy or courage, but he likes it, and he squeezes Steve’s shoulder as they open the stairwell door and head down the hall.

Sam can hear voices already, and when they get to the doorway, he can see Bucky in the back corner of the group meeting room, deep in conversation with a blond man who looks way too young to be there. His eyes are huge, but he’s smiling, watching Bucky’s hand gesture in front of his chest like he’s demonstrating the proper way to fasten the middle clip, but that could just be Sam’s imagination.

Steve pulls his ball cap a little lower and takes another deep breath. “Wish me luck?”

Sam squeezes his hand once more before he lets it go. “You don’t need it.”

“Thanks, Sam,” says Steve with a smile.

Sam wiggles his fingers in a tiny wave to Bucky, who’s looking over now. His eyes have lit up at seeing Steve — at seeing both of them — and he waves back. The young man he was talking to turns, rises from his chair, and shakes Steve’s hand like any other soldier. Sam takes that as his cue to head back upstairs.

If he can work through lunch, he can go home a little earlier. Tonight feels like a good night for a date night, and Sam decides he’d like to take his guys out for dinner, then get frozen yogurt at the new place around the corner. Bucky still hasn’t tried it, and Sam can only imagine Bucky’s face when he sees the place swarming with hipsters. No backpacks — only satchels — but Sam looks forward to hearing Bucky’s thoughts on non-prescription glasses and suspenders that don’t actually hold anything up.    


End file.
